


quae caeli pandis ostium

by abosock



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Alpha Luther Hargreeves, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Body Dysmorphia, Cheating, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/M, I reappear after five years and post this one uhhhh, Incest, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Omega Vanya Hargreeves, Rape/Non-con Elements, Self-Loathing, dead dove do not eat, this one's got everything
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-10
Updated: 2020-08-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:54:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25816126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abosock/pseuds/abosock
Summary: Reginald never told Vanya that she was an Omega. After Jenkins throws her medication away she goes into heat in the holding cell, and someone's got to deal with it.Luther POV, full filthy heat fic. I would not call any of this consensual. Canon-compliant-ish.
Relationships: Luther Hargreeves/Vanya Hargreeves
Comments: 6
Kudos: 86





	quae caeli pandis ostium

Of course Reginald never told Vanya she was an Omega. Of course he mixed suppressants in with the rest of her medications, strong ones, multiple times a day, every day. Looking at her you can see it - it’s in the papery thinness of her skin, the more-than-Omega slightness of her shoulders. There’s a look to people who went on suppressants too young and never even presented, and she’s got that look. 

Of course when Jenkins throws out her medication she goes into heat.

Luther can smell it on her before she faints, and feel it in the way her power ripples out of her - dysregulated, potent, like a shrill high note just beyond his hearing. 

His stupid, big, horrifying body was Alpha before the serum and it’s Alpha after. He’s used to the stink of pheromones, the involuntary, disgusting things they do to him - another little loss of control, another little jolt of horror at the thought of someone touching him, of someone stuck to his big, awful body, of being exposed in front of someone. He hates the thought, and he hates wanting the thought. He hates how unbidden it all is, how his body wants something the rest of him is repulsed by.

He can feel the sickening pulse and throb already, his body responding and reacting to Vanya’s hormones even though Allison is just upstairs, desperately injured. It’s one reason why he responds on instinct and does what Reginald would have done - throws Vanya in the isolation room and locks the door. It gets her smell out of his nostrils. It frees him from the unstoppable images of what he could do with her, with sad little Vanya, with his father’s favorite little spy. With this Omega in helpless heat in front of him. 

By the time the others come downstairs she’s crawling with it, glassy-eyed with heat and panic. She probably has no idea what’s happening. She’s hunched against the door, the flush visible on her pale cheeks, pupils dark with hormones. 

“You can’t leave her in there like that,” Diego says. 

“What should I do, then?” Luther snaps, turning on him.

“Handle it,” Five says, from behind them. 

“What?” Luther whirls on him. 

“Handle it,” Five says. “The heat brought this on. Handle the heat.”

“That’s sick,” Luther says. It sends the blood rushing in his ears again. 

Five spreads his hands. “ _I_ can’t do it,” he says. “I -” he smirks a little at the irony - “haven’t presented yet.”

Luther looks at Diego. 

“No,” Diego says. “I can’t. I won’t.” He shakes his head. “She’s my -”

Luther holds up a hand. He doesn’t need to hear the word. He doesn’t want to hear it. 

“Well,” Five says, looking between them. “That’s never something that stopped Luther.” 

“You leave Allison out of this,” Luther snaps. 

“But I’m right,” Five says. He looks Luther up and down. “Can you even do this?” he says, with that aggressive, casual curiosity that makes Luther want to strangle him. “If your knot’s as big as the rest of you we’ll have to go hire someone more - reasonable.” He tilts his head. “And she might kill them.”

Luther’s face is flushing so hard it hurts. “No,” he says, flatly. “It’s normal. It’s just the rest of me that’s - like this -”

“Well, keep your shirt on then,” Five says, and starts for the door. “She won’t care.”

Diego stops Five, a hand on his chest. “She can’t agree to this,” he says. 

“Oh yeah?” Five says, stepping around him.

\---

When the airlock opens the smell hits Luther in the face. It’s a wall of warmth, like - like springtime and old books and something very familiar. He knows how Vanya smells - like sour fear and pear-scented shampoo - and there’s more to it now, a crackling, metal, ozone tang, like the isolation room is full of invisible lightning.

He tries to ignore what the simple pheromones in that lungful of air do to his cock. It’s normal. It’s biological. It’s not his fault. 

She looks up at Five and there are tear tracks on her face. 

“Hey,” Five says, crouching down beside her. “Vanya. Hey.” 

She’s murmuring softly, lips barely forming the words. _No no no no no, no, no_.

“Vanya, you’re in heat,” Five says. “You were taking suppressants, and the heat pushed your powers out of control.”

“I didn’t mean to -” she says. Her lips are pale and cracked. Luther fumbles for the canteen Diego always carries on his stupid Batman belt. He hands it to Five. 

Five nods and presses it into Vanya’s hand. “Drink,” he says.

She stares at it like it’s an alien object, then takes a tentative sip. After the first sip turns into a gulp, she tips it up, throat working, not pausing until it’s empty.

“We have to get you out of here,” Five says. “And we can’t do that if your heat’s uncontrolled. You’ll bring the place down.” From the sad, sardonic tilt of his mouth Luther can tell Five means “place” broadly. The planet, maybe. Or the solar system. 

“The pills,” Vanya says, very faintly. 

“It’s too late for suppressants,” Five says. “Next time, Vanya, I promise.”

“Jesus,” Diego says, turning away. 

“Please,” Vanya says. Her hips are shifting slightly, a little, uncomfortable, painful-looking fidget. Luther can feel what it does to him, the urge to - to take, to still her, to hold her down and get her under him and _under his control_. The urge to _fix this_ \- 

“We can still try to find someone,” Five says. They all know that that’s unlikely. Vanya just killed her boyfriend. There probably isn’t anyone else in her phone who wants to come into their basement and risk his life, even for a willing Omega in heat. 

Vanya’s shaking her head. “I wanted -” she said, faintly. “He killed Helen.” 

“Shit,” Diego says, again, from his corner, low and like he’s talking to himself. “Shit, shit -” 

“Shut up, Diego,” Luther says, without turning. 

“There’s no one else?” Five says, evenly. 

Vanya takes a deep, shuddering breath, and shakes her head again.

“Okay,” Five says, evenly, rationally. It makes Luther want to throw the little twerp through a wall, how even and rational his voice is. “Then there’s us.” 

Luther sees the moment where Vanya looks past Five’s comfortingly pre-presentation face and takes in who else is standing there.

“No,” she says, shaking her head. “No, Five -” 

“I know,” Five says. “I wouldn’t fuck Luther either. But we’ve all got choices, and this one’s yours.”

Her hips are working harder now. She’s dug her fingernails into her crossed arms, hard, little red half-moons on her pale forearms, almost drawing blood. Luther’s spent a lot of time hating his body, but he’s not sure he’s ever hated it this much before. Seven is on the floor in front of him, sobbing, refusing, and all his stupid Alpha body can think of is how calm and careful he could keep her if he could just get her on his knot, how readily she’d give in in just a moment or two, this far into heat. How she’d look with his baby in her belly. How the pinched lines of her face might soften, how he could be what she needs -

She’s trapped, she’s cornered, and his disgusting body is _into_ it. 

She sees it too. She flinches, her face going pale around the heat flush. He tries to hunch even smaller, hands in his pockets, to hide - to hide it, to hide what her pheromones are doing to him. 

He’s far gone. Even with that he wants to step forward and put his hands on her, frame her against that filthy black mat and - she’s scared, his body insists. She won’t be scared once she’s his. She’ll be soft and pliant and he can keep her _contained_. He can do things for her that she doesn’t even know she needs yet. 

It’s bullshit, it’s hormonal bullshit, but his cock throbs and his mouth is dry. 

“I don’t know what else to do,” Five says, softly. It’s an unusual admission for him, and that gets her attention. She looks up from her miserable hunch, meets his eyes. 

“It’ll help?” she says, faintly. 

“Yes,” Five says. “I think so.” 

Her fingers dig in deeper. There’s a little smear of blood, now, on her arm. 

When she nods Luther is on his knees in front of her in the next second. “You’re hurt,” he says, taking her hands in his. The cell is rattling; the lights are flickering, the pressure inside the isolation unit is so high his ears pop. 

Five is backing away. Good. Some part of Luther wants to growl, to turn and face down the others and tell them that this Omega - this powerful, writhing, needy Omega - is his now. 

“ _This hurts_ ,” Vanya responds. “Just - just do it, just. Please.”

He can smell her. The way she’s shifting he’s not surprised when he runs his hand up her thigh and finds a spreading, damp patch. 

It seems - it seems wrong to undress her. He tears at the seam instead. They’re cheap leggings, anyway, and they part without much struggle, and then his hand is on her, his hand is - she hisses when he pushes a finger into her. It’s too thick. It’s - it’s too hairy, he’s glad he shaves his hands, but it’s still. It’s wrong to touch her with his big, horrible hands like this, but she’s so wet and so hot inside, and he’s unable to look away. 

Her whole back arches off the floor and she _screams_ , a high, wailing sound that shatters the lightbulbs in the antechamber. Cold terror flashes through him as the dark falls over him - he doesn’t know what he’s doing, what if he’s _hurt_ her, what if he’s _hurt the Omega_ \- but then she’s clutching at his still-clothed shoulders with his hands, heels drumming, and he realizes that tense little Vanya Hargreeves is coming on his hand. 

It’s easier in the dark, now. It’s easier to put his nose to her neck and smell the thick, instructive Omega smells coming off her, the ones that tell him exactly what her body wants, whether - whether she’d ever want it, whether she’d want it from him. 

Her hands are scrabbling, heat-clumsy, at the front of his pants. He bats them away - he doesn’t want her to have to touch him any more then she absolutely has to - and then he puts his free hand to the torn seam of her leggings and tugs. 

She cries out again as she sinks down around his hand, a high, disjointed sound. The metal around them is bending and warping with the noise of it, and his ears feel like he’s in a plane that’s rapidly losing altitude. 

“Please,” she says, gasping, hips shifting against his hand. “Please!”

He frees his cock with his other hand. It might not have been serum-enhanced, but it was always - it was always pretty big, he figures, and now the knot at the bottom seems huge, and she’s so tight on his fingers, and what if - how is he supposed to - 

Outside in the whirling darkness and the sound of screeching metal Five calls “Any time now, guys!”, and Luther jolts out of his terror and - he - he.

She is wild under him, bucking and shoving herself up at him with no plan or purpose, and he frees his hands - he just wants to be _in_ her, _surrounded_ by the Omega, to drown, to - please just have her - but logistically he has to shove her thighs up, put his hands under her hips, _haul_ her down onto him. 

It’s. He’s been with one woman, once. He’s never been with an Omega in heat. It’s like a key slipping into a lock. It’s like biting through the skin of a perfectly ripe peach. It feels - _sweet_ , so sharp and burningly perfect that his bones ache with it. 

She has stilled, her knees coming up around him, her hands clutching his sweatshirt. He’s slid in all the way, one quick, eager thrust, and he can feel her _everywhere_. 

After a moment she sighs, and loosens her grip on his shirt, and he begins to move.

He doesn’t like to think that he would have _enjoyed_ fucking Vanya. If this scenario had been presented to him, knot Seven and save the world, he’d have liked to think that it would be medicinal, impersonal, that he’d get it done and get out so that they could both get to the business of repressing the memory forever. 

But some instinct takes him over, as she spreads her legs wider under him, and he moves _purposefully_. He moves like he wants her to know who’s fucking her, like he wants her to know who the Alpha is who’s holding her open, who she’s shaking around, who - she clutches around again, her sounds more incoherent now, more helpless. There’s another gush of slick as she does, hot and wet and perfect, and he can feel the spreading puddle on his thighs, on the pants he’s still kept mostly on, on the floor around them. Good. 

When he lifts her onto his knot she moans again, almost a scream, a high purposeless noise like it’s being wrung out of her. _You sick fuck_ , some still-rational part of his back brain narrates nastily, but he _wants_ to come in her, wants to fill her up with it. There’s something - some nasty little part of him that even through the haze of her heat keeps thinking _this is Seven_ , the one always standing beside Reginald with the stopwatch, the one who would run to Reginald with every single secret, and he, Number One, is going to come in her. He _owns_ her. She is struggling and panting on his knot and when he thrusts into her, all the way seated inside her where she couldn’t - even - get him out if she wanted to she suddenly starts coming, her entire thin, tense body bearing down around him, so tight he can’t move. She’s clinging to him with everything she’s got, her arms around his shoulders like a vice, her legs barely meeting around his hips, and the crackle in the air hums and wavers and -

The lights come back on, like a candle being blown out in reverse. He barely registers it as he starts coming into the pulsing, clenching vice grip of her cunt, hips snapping forward where there’s barely any room, dragging against her for every sweet last spark of sensation. The sound that tears out of him is animal, humiliating. Triumphant. 

She’s crying. It gnaws at him the way the guilt will later. Her face is dirty, and the tears make tracks, and he’s not even sure she knows that she’s doing it. 

She squirms under him like he's too heavy, and he hates himself for how the tug and shift makes his hips bear down a little, another wave of cum pulsing into her. “Hey, no,” he says, shifting as best he can, lifting himself up. 

The look she gives him is one of exhausted resentment. Her knees are still spread on either side of him, and when he lifts up her hips rise against him, half voluntary, half knot pulling her with him. 

He tells himself he can’t help it, the way his body shifts, riding forward. There’s no room at all, but every thrust pushes a little high gasp out of her, a little high sound. It’s messy and intoxicating, fucking her through the knot, fucking into the mess he’s made of her, the mess that’s being held inside by the hard clench of her muscles and the way he’s got her plugged up, full, stopped. It’s just a little motion but the drag and clench of it feels like nothing he’s ever felt, it feels like being punched in the jaw, over and over, the intensity of it. 

Her legs spread in the air, unsupported, and she starts coming again, long, slow, smooth ripples like her body is trying to milk every drop up and into her womb, like it’s trying to take him as far into her as she can. The ripples in the air are smooth, now, bright and even, less like the wind before a thunderstorm and more like the air before a spring rain. 

Her shirt is shoved slightly to one side - they’re both fully dressed - and he puts his face against her neck and holds on, barely moving, letting the clenching of her cunt milk him, drink him down, keep him coming into her. 

When he pulls her on top of him at last she goes like a rag doll, limbs limp and shocky. Her cunt is still working him, long, slow pulls and drags that feel like they’re the only movement left in her exhausted body. Even with the knot in her she’s messy to the knee, a smear of slick and cum that he can’t help running his hand through. He can’t help raising his fingers to his mouth. It’s - he’s _got_ her, that same dark part of his mind exults. He’s claimed her. When he presses his hand to her lower belly he can feel a long, slow throb. 

It is, ironically, the least aware of his body he’s been since the serum. 

He lifts his clean hand to push the hair back from her face. It’s tangled and sweat-stuck to her forehead. 

“Don’t,” she says, flinching back from his hand. 

“Okay.” he says. 

Her cheek is on his terrible slab of a torso; their bodies are still knotted together in a way he can’t undo. She’s very still on him, light, like a little bird. Fragile.

“I’m sorry -” he says, uncertainly.

“ _Don’t_ ,” she says, more force in it this time. 

“Okay,” he says again. 

The wind has died down completely. Her eyelids are fluttering shut. If the situation wasn’t so mind-breakingly horrible, Luther thinks, it would be peaceful. 

But when Vanya jerks awake, their bodies finally free of each others’, Allison is standing outside the door, shocked. Shocked, and necessarily speechless.

So Vanya blows up the moon anyway, in the end.

\--- 

Luther’s so relieved that she doesn’t remember. He’s wondered this whole time if - if it took, if she’s been trapped in the 1960s pregnant with his young. He’s fretted over it. Over what happens if the serum somehow comes through and she gives birth to a nightmarish, huge baby. Over who’s taking care of her.

The blonde lady pulls a gun on him and answers his question. That’s who’s taking care of her. He apologizes. He apologizes again. He doesn’t tell her what he’s apologizing for.


End file.
